


The Overpass

by a_nonny_moose



Category: jacksepticeye egos - Fandom
Genre: F/F, Gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-05-17 14:40:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14834198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_nonny_moose/pseuds/a_nonny_moose
Summary: Anti and Marvin are old acquaintances, trying to make it in their shady high school town. Gangs VS Lesbians. This is a fic for the summer of 20gayteen.





	1. An Unlikely Rescue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [R_E_D](https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_E_D/gifts).



“Who do you think you are?”

“Fuck off.” Anti clenched her pocket knife a little tighter, a little closer. It was late, and dark, and all she wanted to do was get home.

“Freak,” one of the boys spat, leering, from the shadows.

“Coward.”

Anti bit the inside of her cheek, walking faster. Shoulders down, and chin up, and nothing could hurt her.

“Monster.”

She spared them a glance, but the three men weren’t looking at her anymore. They were glaring past her, at the next poor soul to cross their path.

Vulnerable.

Not her problem.

“Murderer.”

“Leave me alone.” It was whispered, afraid. Inviting a fight.

Anti perked up, hurried as she was. It was a familiar voice, despite the three years between her and high school. It was the voice that had laughed above the others in the cafeteria, the voice that had screamed through flames. Good memories, and bad ones. Anti chanced a look behind her.

Long brown hair, a mask in the shape of a cat, tightly clenched fists. Marvin.

They’d never been friends, and Anti wasn’t about to go out of her way to help her now.

One of the boys stepped forward, under the streetlight. Even halfway down the block, Anti could see his shadow stretch forward, hear his knuckles crack.

“ _Freak_.”

Despite herself, Anti stopped. There was no one around for miles, save the five of them.

Marvin’s shadow stopped, too, wavering against the pavement. “What do you want?”

“Y’know,” one of the boys snarled, joining the other in the street, “my brother was a year younger than you. Went to school with you.”

 _Oh, no_. Anti knew exactly where this was going. She turned, pressing herself to the side of the building. To watch, she told herself. Not to intervene.

“Did he?” Marvin was saying, shaking, and Anti watched her take a step back. “I—I didn’t know—”

“No, you didn’t.” The tone was different, suddenly: not the catcall of bored, dead-end high school graduates on a Saturday night, but a bite, a vengeance long since buried. “You didn’t know him.”

Marvin looked as if she was about to run, the third boy stepping into the street. They blocked her path, against the dusty brick walls of their city, and Marvin drew her hands up. “Please—”

“And y’know what?” It was a choked laugh, closer to a sob, and Anti spotted the glittering hilt of a knife. “He never will.”

There were too many of them for her to fight alone, but already, Anti was calculating. That wasn’t a pocket knife, and the boys were advancing fast. Anti was no hero, and she didn’t pretend to be—but Marvin was an innocent, relatively speaking, and she didn’t hurt innocents.

Well, most of the time. 

* * *

 

Marvin backed into the wall, hands still in front of her. She didn’t use her magic often, and had certainly never used it like this. Her hands started to glow. “Don’t—don’t come closer.”

“Freak,” the boy in front spat again, eyes dark, glittering. “Murderer.”

“Don’t call me that!”

“ _Murderer_.”

“Stop!” The knife was flashing in his hand, now, and Marvin squinted her eyes shut.

“You _killed_ him.”

“I said, STOP!” There was a flash of light, heat, and the three men stopped dead. Marvin opened her eyes, slow. Her hands held fire, and it lit four scared faces. Scared of her.

_Wait, four?_

The moment of shock was all Anti had needed, and she jumped forward. The boy closest to her fell as she jumped on his back, punching him out in one blow.

“Is that—”

“It’s Anti!”

“Shit, run!”

“No!” The boy in front looked between them, wide-eyed. “I have to finish this.”

Anti stepped forward over the prone body, knife held out in front of her. “You don’t have to finish _anything_ ,” she spat. “Leave while you still have fingers.”

Marvin fumbled, the light in her hands going out. Anti was terrifying enough in broad daylight, an undercut and skinny jeans and a terrible, intimidating scowl. Just now, her face was split into a dangerous sneer, sharp as the knife in her hand.

“Leave,” she repeated, unwavering. Somewhere under her terror, Marvin understood. Anti was _protecting_ her.

The other boy tugged his friend back, shaking, eyeing Anti’s outstretched knife. “Let’s get out of here.”

“This isn’t over.”

“Fuck off.” Anti stared at them as they stumbled away, checking over their shoulders. She turned to Marvin, and Marvin jerked back, equally afraid.

“Please don’t—”

“Are you okay?”

“What?” Marvin lowered her arms, still stiff, still trembling. “I—yeah.”

Anti nodded. “Yeah, well, good.” She turned and started to walk away, pocketing her knife with an air of finality.

Marvin folded her hands, catching her breath, and ran after her. “Hey, wait!”

“What?” Anti didn’t stop walking, but she slowed as Marvin caught up to her.

“Thank you, maybe?” Marvin laughed, the incredulity of the situation and Anti’s scowl fighting the creeping shadows.

“I didn’t do anything,” Anti muttered, gathering her jacket around her. “Watch out for yourself, is all.”

“I—” Marvin reached for Anti’s arm, then thought better of it. “Will you be okay getting home?”

“I should ask you that question,” Anti grudged, and a smile tugged at the side of her face. “I have a knife, and unlike you, I don’t have vengeful ex-siblings after me.”

Marvin drew back, suddenly, rightfully more guarded. “Right.”

“Right.” Anti felt the chill, and she shook her head. “It’s been a while since high school, since—”

“Yeah, well—” Marvin tucked her hair back, adjusting her mask self-consciously. “See you around, then.”

“See you around.” Anti stared after Marvin as she hurried down the street, curled in on herself. It was for the better, Anti promised herself. This was for the better.


	2. We All Do Something

“Oh, no no nonono—” Marvin kicked at the tire of her car, grumbling to herself. It was sunset, and she was only halfway home, and the motor had quit on her. It wasn’t as if she knew anything about cars, but she popped the hood anyway and looked inside.

A _snap_ , and her fingers lit like a match. It was light, small, controlled, and she peered past the smoke.

“Motherf—”

The squeal of tires drowned out the rest of her words, and Marvin looked up. A motorcycle, loud and obnoxious: and on top of it, someone in vaguely familiar skinny jeans.

“Hello?”

“Need some help?” Her voice was muffled by the helmet, but Anti pulled it off, visor glinting in the setting sun.

“I could use it, yeah,” Marvin huffed, stepping back. She didn’t meet Anti’s eye, the cold of their last conversation still hovering over her. Anti didn’t seem to notice, bending over the hood of her car. “What, uh—” Marvin cleared her throat, the flame at the end of her fingers going out, “—what brings you here?”

“Running some errands,” Anti mumbled, hardly inviting further conversation. Marvin nodded, looking past her, anywhere but Anti stooping, hair over her eyes, clothes windswept. “What happened here?”

Marvin grabbed at the subject change like a lifeline, looking around them. The shadows were growing longer, and it gave her shivers. No one in this town should be outside past nightfall. “I was driving, and the engine started rattling, and I think it lost power? But I just got a new battery, and—”

“Uh-huh.” Anti reached in, jiggling wires, and Marvin squinted in with her, nearly head-to-head. “Do me a favor, Marvin?”

“Uh—yes?”

“Hop in, and hold her at two thousand.”

“Wh—miles?” Marvin straightened up, confused, and Anti shot her a look.

“RPM, princess,” Anti scoffed, walking around the car. “You can do that, at least?”

“I can!” Marvin snapped, tossing her hair back. Her mask shaded the worst of the low light, but she still squinted as she got into the car and turned the ignition. “Ready?”

“Uh, yeah?” Anti yelled, behind the car.

Marvin revved the engine, eyes on the gauge. She could do this, of course. It wasn’t hard to hold a car at two thousand RPM. Of course she knew what that stood for.

“Okay, okay, you’re good!” Anti banged on the trunk until Marvin switched the engine off and clambered out, looking breathlessly around. Anti shouldered past her, gentle, and bent over the hood again.

“Did you fix it?” Marvin leaned against the car, watching.

“Yeah, your catalytic converter is unplugged, a bit.”

“My what?”

Anti rolled her eyes, squinting into the engine. “Come, look.”

Marvin shuffled over, curious, arms hanging useless at her sides. Anti shifted to point to a bundle of wires, and a plug. “What’s _that_?”

“This wire—” Anti pointed, “—goes here. Yours is loose. I fixed it for now, but you should get it looked at so it doesn’t happen again.”

“And if it happens again?”

Anti unplugged, then re-plugged the wire before looking at Marvin, a bemused grin. “Do that.”

Marvin crossed her arms, flustered. “Okay. Thanks.”

Anti shook her head, stretching out her back. “Good luck, then, Marvin.”

“You can—” Marvin stopped, drumming her fingers on the hood of her car. “You can call me ‘Marv,’ if you want.”

“An honor, I’m sure. Isn’t that what the kids at school called you?”

Marvin crossed her arms as Anti settled astride her motorcycle again, helmet in her hand. “My friends, yeah.”

“Am I your friend now?”

“I mean—” Marvin stuttered, keys in hand, “If you want?”

“But you don’t like being called ‘Marv,’ do you?” Anti swung her leg over the motorcycle so she could lean against it, grinning at Marvin.

“How would you know?” Marvin paused, taken aback. “And how are you good with cars? And—"

Anti laughed, throwing her head back. It was harsh, with all the clarity of a ringing bell. “We weren’t friends.”

“We weren’t.” _Where was this going_?

“You sat at the popular kids’ table, surrounded by people.”

“Yeah, until—” Marvin stopped, looking down at her hands. Burn scars, raised and faded.

Anti continued on, barely pausing for the past, steamrolling forward. “I sat alone. I was the weird kid.”

“You’re still the weird kid,” Marvin shot back, then stopped. _Was that too far? Was Anti going to stab her?_

Anti laughed again. “I thought you were full of it, y’know? But I saw the way they talked to you, and I saw you listen.”

“And?” Defensive, Marvin crossed her arms. The sun was finally yielding to twilight, and she should have been home already.

“And that’s all you did.” Anti paused, something like satisfaction crossing her face. “You listened, and you weren’t happy.”

“How would you know?” Marvin repeated, quieter. It was true, of course, and that was the reason _why_ , but there was no way Anti could know _that_ —

Anti winked, pulling her helmet on, revving her own engine. “You listen, I watch. We all do something, right?”

Marvin raised a hand to wave as Anti revved her engine again, then pulled off the side of the road, going back the way she’d come.

As Anti disappeared, back towards the city, Marvin lowered her hand. For the first time in a long time, it was as if something had changed.

She hopped into her car, still staring ahead, still thinking. _We all do something_. Anti watched, paranoid, detached, calculating. Marvin… listened? She cared, cared too deeply, and it had hurt too many people to count.

For the first time in a long time, she was starting to care again.

For the first time in a long time, that scared the absolute _shit_ out of her.

Marvin turned the ignition—her car was working fine—and started again for home. She didn’t pause to look in the rearview mirror, steamrolling forward.


	3. For The Better

“Next!”

Anti looked up from her phone, stepping forward. The tiny coffeeshop on the edge of town didn’t have the best breakfast, but it was about the only place that didn’t burn their beans. “Large, black, two things of sugar.”

“That’ll be three-twenty.” The person behind the counter flashed her a smile as he took her fistful of cash, and handed back the change.

“Mm, thanks.” Anti barely raised her head, shuffling out of the way with her change in her pocket.

She leaned against an empty table, waiting for her drink. It was too early, far too early, for anyone to be awake. The people behind the counter were chipper, no doubt fueled by the smell of coffee and the tears of the undead. Anti looked around, tilting her head. There were a handful of people yawning into their cups and bagels at their seats, another small handful trickling through the line to stand by her, shifting restlessly and avoiding eye contact. It was a sleepy morning in a small town, and if Anti hadn’t been, well, Anti, she would have been at ease.

As the water boiled, and more people started to wake up, the coffee shop started to fill with the low murmur of conversation. Anti glared at a woman stepping a little too close, and she glared back. No one trusted anyone in this town—it was full of dead ends, and the few people that thrived only did so off other peoples’ hardship. If you were smart, you kept pepper spray, spare bullets, brass knuckles. Pocket knives.

Anti gripped hers, hand in her pocket, tracing the blade through the fabric. She was the toughest thing in this town, but not by much.

“Anti?” A coffee was slid forward on the counter, and Anti hurried up to grab it. Several sets of eyes followed her, lazy curiosity and whispers.

Anti flashed her receipt as she took the coffee, eager to get out as soon as possible. “Thanks.”

“Hey, wait—” the person behind the counter grabbed at her wrist, fast, and Anti flinched, off-guard. “I’m Ray.”

“Nice to meet you, I guess?” Anti pulled back, but they didn’t let go.

“I was just wondering—” he leaned forward, closer, and Anti froze, “—would you like to get coffee sometime?”

“I’m getting coffee now.” Anti ripped her arm back, coffee in hand.

“I mean—” Ray, whoever he was, stumbled. “With me. Coffee with me?”

“Yeah, no.” Anti’s hand was in her pocket again, fully aware that half the coffeeshop was watching her.

Ray’s grin coalesced into a scowl. “Well, you’re—”

“Anti!” There was a gentle hand on Anti’s shoulder, and it took everything she had not to rip it off of the person it belonged to. “I haven’t seen you in _forever_ , how _are_ you?”

Ray looked up, mid-sentence, and it was his turn to flinch back. “Whatever,” he muttered, pushing himself off the counter.

The hand steered Anti away without so much as an apology, chattering, and pulled her outside. Anti stopped, blinking in confusion, and turned. “What—”

“Well, _he_ looked like an asshole.” Marvin stepped back, self-consciously drawing away from Anti’s shoulder.

“Marvin.” Anti huffed, taking a sip of her coffee. It was hot, and burned her tongue, but she needed a second to recollect herself. “What was _that_?”

Marvin shrugged, pushing her hair back. Her mask was bright in the morning light, and face-to-face, Anti could barely look at her. “Looked like you needed a little help, I just—”

“I don’t need _help_ ,” Anti snapped, before she could stop herself.

Marvin folded into herself, reflexive. “I—sorry,” she muttered.

Anti paused, caught, for the second time that morning, off-guard. Marvin had been trying, out of kindness. “I—uh, thanks, Vin.”

Hurt forgotten (or at least masked), Marvin laughed. It was high and only half-muffled behind her hand, like it wasn’t a sound that came out often. “Vin?” she managed, giggling.

“Vin.” Anti leaned back against the wall, shaded from the sun. “People always abbreviate the first half of your name, right?”

Marvin laughed again, standing next to her. “Yeah.”

“Well—” Anti took a sip of her coffee, sneaking a look at Marvin, “—I abbreviated the last half.”

Marvin collapsed into giggles, leaning her head against the wall. “Vin. Vinnie. I could be a mob boss. I love it.”

“Hmm.” Anti hid her grin behind the coffee cup, looking away. It was nice, having someone to tease. _More dangerous, too,_ she reminded herself. Seeing Marvin catch her breath, Anti decided she didn’t care. “Ever get your car fixed?”

“Oh, yeah.” Marvin pulled her hair away from her neck, down even in the heat. “The guys said it was the converter.”

“Told ya so.”

“Mm-hmm.” Marvin reached for her keys, looking around. “I’m going to have to jet, I think, but I’ll drr you around?”

“Of course.” Anti raised her mostly-empty cup, starting for her motorcycle. It took a moment, but there was a pang of—something. She didn’t want to let Marvin go yet. She wanted to sit and talk for a while. On impulse, she hurried after her. “Hey, Vin?”

“I have to come up with a nickname for you, too, now,” Marvin said, stopping. “Tea? Tie? Ann?”

“None of the above.” Anti shook her head, a sudden nervousness shifting her from one foot to the other. “I was just going to say, if you want to hang out sometime—”

Marvin’s eyes lit up, even behind her mask. A beat, and then: “I—uh, well…” It was as if she’d remembered something, and she crossed and uncrossed her arms in front of her. “It’s just… I’m pretty busy these days, uh—”

Anti took a half step back, every wall that she’d ever created throwing themselves back up. What was she _doing_? This was how people got hurt. This was how people got killed. Especially with Marvin— “Yeah, I get it.” Anti stepped back again, looking down, summoning a scowl. “Yeah. See you. Maybe.”

“Maybe,” Marvin echoed, and Anti forced herself not to look up. There was hurt, hesitation.

This was for the better.

Anti hurried, now, to her motorcycle, jamming her helmet on her head. She had things to do, after all, and little enough time for… this. Whatever this was.

Even so, she waited, eyes hidden behind her visor, until Marvin had gotten into her car, before driving away.

* * *

 

Marvin watched Anti drive away first, turning their words over in her head. _Vin. Hang out sometime. See you._ She leaned forward, resting her head against the steering wheel. It was hot, through the plastic of her mask, and Marvin sighed.

It was nice, and all, running into her. But she, Marvin, couldn’t do this. She couldn’t do this again.

She started her car without moving, feeling the warmth of the sun climbing in the sky. It was another moment before she pulled out of the parking lot, and a moment more before the road was underneath her.

This was for the better.

* * *

 

Anti drew into herself, over the next week. She had been too close, and this was for the better. She promised herself, this was for the better. She stayed inside, hard at work, surviving off the food she’d stockpiled.

Elbow deep in parts, Anti found herself staring at an empty pantry and empty stomach at the end of the week. Just one grocery run, she promised herself. In and out, and back to work.

“Haven’t seen ya around lately,” the corner store cashier mumbled, ringing her up. He was older than Anti thought she’d live to be, thanks to a nine-millimeter under the counter. She listened to him, when she could afford to.

“I’ve been… busy,” Anti muttered, fishing for change.

“Mm.” He didn’t talk much, one of the most tolerable people she’d ever met. “You makin’ friends out there?”

“You know I don’t make friends,” Anti shot back. A moment, gathering herself, and she repented. “Well, kind of.”

He closed the register, scrubbing at the counter, and waited for Anti to speak.

“Y’know Marvin?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Marvin? That loon from four years ‘go?”

“I mean—” Anti shoved what little hair she had back, scowling. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Thought they would’a carted her ‘n her magic off a’ready,” he muttered, ambling around the counter to sweep.

“Yeah.” Anti stopped at the door, hesitating, feeding her flicker of hope. “D’you know if anyone’s seen her around?”

He leaned on his broom, eyeing Anti up and down. “You’re a strange one, miss,” he muttered, finally. “It’s a small town, an’ word gets around. No one’s seen her, even when she’s s’pposed to show up. Folks gettin’ worried.”

“Oh?” Something in Anti’s stomach sank, and with the hurt came a snide thought: _told you so._

“If you have somethin’ to do with her—” he turned, about to tell Anti off. But the shop door swung closed, bell ringing gently, and Anti was gone.


	4. If I Can Help It

Marvin wasn’t sure where she was, or how long it had been. She was cold, and tired, and sore. Her mask was only half-on, ripped away from her face. There were red-rust stains on it, singed edges. Fire? Blood? Her own, or someone else’s?

She didn’t know.

The world was spinning, and Marvin closed her eyes. The floor of the alley was rough, grimy under her cheek, but she didn’t care. Everything hurt. She coughed, tasting metal. What happened? How did she—

It didn’t matter now. Marvin curled in on herself, shivering.

Footsteps, slow, and Marvin flinched. Were they back? Were they going to hurt her?

Footsteps, faster, and Marvin didn’t even have time to raise their head before the person stood above her.

“Who—” she managed, beyond tired, before they draw back their foot and kicked her in the gut.

“ _Freak_ ,” they spat, and Marvin just barely covered her head before they kicked her again. “No one came looking for you.”

“Please—” Marvin managed, coughing, crying.

“Murderer.” Another, kick, harder, and Marvin felt her ribs crack. “You _killed_ them.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Shut UP!” The boy standing above her was familiar, too familiar, and his voice cracked. “Just shut up!”

His feet stopped, and Marvin cried. She felt her mask slip off, but she couldn’t care. She was sobbing into the dirt, and her ribs were sore, and her heart was breaking, and she couldn’t care.

A dull thump from above, and a fresh splatter of blood. The feet stumbled back.

There was shouting, now, and someone ran just past Marvin, heavy, angry. Marvin flinched as best she could, chest filled with stabbing pain.

Marvin didn’t know how long it had been before the screams stopped, the alley falling silent again. One pair of footsteps, now, slow.

A pair of hands, stronger than she was, turned Marvin over. She ducked, her hair falling over her face. “Don’t—”

The person hesitated, and there was a moment of scrabbling. Marvin’s mask was pressed back into her hands, the elastic band slipped behind her head. Gentle, just short of familiar. “Vin?”

Marvin wrapped her arms around her, face hidden, shaking. Anti? Anti? It couldn’t be—

Anti’s arms were under her, one around her shoulders and the other under her knees. In a fluid motion, she picked Marvin up, cradling her close to her chest. “I’m here,” she said, more to herself, as if Marvin couldn’t hear.

Marvin sagged into Anti’s arms, relief overtaking her. “’M not dead?”

Anti’s arms tightened around her, and they were moving, walking briskly out of the alley. “No,” Anti whispered. “Not if I can help it.”

Marvin managed a smile, and the world spun into nothingness.


	5. It's Not Much

Anti mentally kicked herself the whole walk—well, sprint—home, Marvin limp in her arms. It was too intimate, this, Marvin’s mask half-sliding off her face, head leaned against Anti’s shoulder. And yet, Anti looked down at the blood and dirt staining Marvin’s clothes, the tear tracks streaking her face, and walked a little faster.

Anti tried not to think about her pocket knife thrown two inches deep into a bully’s shoulder, the way he looked up at her in fear. The words that came out of his mouth: “Don’t kill me.”

She hated herself for hesitating before responding. “I’m not a murderer.”

He ran, and Anti had stepped over to Marvin. She was hurt, and crying, and Anti felt something snap in her chest that had nothing to do with the bootprints lining Marvin’s ribs. She was only here to find Marvin, she’d told herself. Not to rescue, not to doctor.

And now, Anti was hurrying to her tiny, mid-city apartment with the most-wanted girl in the neighborhood cradled in her arms.

She climbed the stairs before setting Marvin on her feet, swaying back and forth as Anti fished out her keys. “Vin, can you hear me?”

“Mmph.” Marvin staggered, a hand at her ribs.

“Come on.” All business, Anti pulled her inside the apartment and locked the door behind them. “I need you to tell me where it hurts.

“All of—all of it,” Marvin gasped, still dizzy. She started to cry again, broken sobs, chest heaving.

Anti pulled her in, settling them on the couch. “Vin, I—” Anti had never had to do this before, and she wasn’t the most comforting person in the world. “I just want to help.”

Marvin sagged forward, drifting in and out of consciousness. “Anti,” she whispered.

“It’s me.” Anti put a hand on her shoulder, steadying Marvin at arm’s length. “Where does it hurt?”

“They—they kicked me,” Marvin gasped, eyes closed behind her mask. “Just—over and over.”

“Just here?” Anti reached down to touch Marvin’s bruised ribs, swollen, cracked.

Marvin flinched back, throwing her hands up. “Ah—I—”

“It’s okay.” Anti held her hand out again, and Marvin pressed her own hand to her ribs. “Can I tape you up, and get you some water? I’ll be careful.”

Marvin looked from her hands to Anti’s, discolored burns to worn scars.

Anti hesitated. “Just trust me,” she murmured. It slipped out, the sound of a promise long since made.

Marvin took Anti’s hand, bracing for something, and breathed. “Yes,” she said, simply.

Anti nodded, awkward in her own home, and rose to find the bandages and a bottle of water. 

* * *

 

Anti had Marvin lie down before running for the first-aid kit. She got into enough trouble on her own to warrant keeping it well-stocked. Now, with Marvin hurt, Anti was glad that she had enough bandages to wind from one end of the apartment to the other.

“Ow.” Marvin winced as Anti pulled the bandages tight, holding a towel to her face. “I—thank you.”

“No talking,” Anti warned, tying a knot. “Just breathe.”

“But—”

“Vin.” Anti sat up, scooting back, wringing out another towel. “You look like you’ve been through hell and back.”

“I’m all right,” Marvin whispered, eyes downcast. “I was just… scared.”

Anti was brimming with questions, but bit them back. She handed Marvin another wet cloth, and Marvin wiped off her arms, her face, stained with dirt. She would be okay, and the tightness in Anti’s chest lifted. “You okay, now?”

“Yeah.” Marvin smiled, shaky, brave, wiping at her eyes under her mask. “Thanks.”

“You don’t have to keep thanking me,” Anti mumbled, starting to clean up.

“You’re a good friend, Anti.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Anti ignored the way her heart jumped in her chest, turning away. “Drink your water, okay?”

Marvin reached for the bottle as Anti shuffled away, dirty gauze in her hands. Caring had never been her forte, whether it was about something or someone. Marvin was gentle, precious, and Anti was afraid to get any closer.

Anti shuffled back to the couch, Marvin looking as beat-up as she felt.

“Hey, Anti?”

“Mm.” Anti perched on the arm of the couch, lost in thought.

“Is it,” Marvin started, hesitant, “is it okay if I sleep, here?”

“I’d consider you an idiot if you tried to drive home.” Anti ran a hand through her hair, calculating. “Do you have anywhere else to be?”

Marvin shook her head, biting her lip.

Anti shrugged. “Fine by me. There’s some frozen lasagna if you’re hungry, and I’ll grab you a blanket.” With that, she stood, and started out of the room.

Marvin hauled herself up, sitting unsteadily on the couch. “Wh—Anti?”

“I’m off to bed, though,” Anti said, pausing. “Do you need anything?”

“It’s just—” Marvin’s voice was small, and she cleared her throat. “—can you stay up with me, for a bit?”

Anti stepped back, uncertain. “I mean, I guess?”

“I—sorry,” Marvin whispered. “I’m still—a little—y’know.”

Anti nodded, understanding, and disappeared. She was back in a moment, a blanket and pillow in hand. “It’s not much,” she said, throwing them over Marvin, “but it’s all yours.”

“Thanks.” Marvin pulled them into her lap, staring, silent.

Anti reached for the TV remote, and Marvin jumped a little as she flipped the TV on, volume low. Anti sat back, looking distinctly at ease, despite the mental effort she was putting into not bushing her knees with Marvin’s.

Marvin was quiet, and Anti looked over at her. “Is there anyone you want me to call?”

“Hmm?”

“Like,” Anti shifted, turning to face her, “family in town? A roommate?”

Marvin shook her head—not a ‘no,’ but an omission. “There’s no one,” she murmured, looking away.

Anti was quiet for a moment, turning her attention back to the TV. Marvin looked up at her, watching the light from the TV play across her face.

“That’s rough, buddy.”

“Yeah.” Marvin looked away, embarrassed. “There are—there are people,” she muttered, tucking her hair back. “Just no one to call.”

Anti nodded, avoiding her eye.

They sat in silence, some old crime drama playing itself out on the screen.

“Did you see?” Marvin broke the silence after a bit, when the TV was the only light in the room and her blanket was drawn close across her shoulders.

“See?” Anti was curled on the other side of the couch like a cat, her eyes glinting. “See what?”

“When—when my mask—” Marvin stuttered, twisting her hands. “Never mind.”

“Nah.” Anti yawned, her eyes closing. “You carry your mask for a reason.”

“Yeah.” Marvin settled her head on the pillow, mask crinkling. A beat, and then: “Thanks.”

“Mm.” Anti watched as Marvin blinked up at the TV, eyes catching the light behind her mask. Gradually, her breathing slowed, and her eyes flickered shut. “G’night, Vin.”

Marvin didn’t respond, breathing deeply, and Anti carefully unfolded herself from the couch. She turned the TV off, silently, and headed to her own bed, stripped of its sheets and pillow.


	6. Somewhere To Go

The first thing that Anti learned about Marvin was that she was an idiot.

“What are you—what are you _doing_?”

“Hey!” Marvin sat back on her heels, mock pouting. “Give that back!”

“You’re _hurt_ ,” Anti snapped, making to lift Marvin up. “You don’t need to be reorganizing my kitchen.”

“It’s messy,” Marvin muttered, allowing Anti to help her to her feet. “And I wanted to make breakfast.”

Anti shook her head, fighting a smile, a bubble of choked warmth in her chest. “I’ll get you something. Just, sit.”

“I make a mean pancake,” Marvin said, as Anti settled her on the couch again. Marvin winced, putting a hand to her ribs. “I—”

“You shouldn’t be moving.” Anti stood, hesitant. “Pizza rolls okay?”

Marvin folded her legs under her, frowning. “Anything is okay, I just—”

“What?”

“I just wanted to say thank you,” Marvin said, mostly to the floor.

“You just did,” Anti called over her shoulder, disappearing into the kitchen. “And you would’ve done the same, so shut up.”

Marvin was silent, still staring at the floor with her mask pulled over her eyes.

* * *

 

The first thing that Marvin learned about Anti was that she was an idiot.

“Here.” Anti handed Marvin a plate, a handful of pizza rolls balanced on top. “Careful, they’re hot.”

“Mm.”

Anti flipped the TV on again, white noise to fill the silence between them.

“Ow—” Marvin dropped a roll back on the plate, and Anti snorted without looking up.

“Told you it was hot.”

“Shut it.”

Silence again, Marvin fanning her tongue. Anti shifted on the couch beside her, stiff.

Marvin chewed carefully around her mouthful of pizza, tucking her hair back. “Anti?”

Anti hesitated. “Yeah?”

“You have questions.”

Anti sighed, turning to face her. “Of course I do.”

Marvin set the empty plate down before tucking a leg underneath herself, turning  so that she and Anti were face to face. “Well, go ahead.”

“’Go ahead?’” Anti bit out a laugh, and Marvin, despite herself, leaned back. “Marvin, where do I _start_?”

“I don’t—I don’t know.”

“I found you,” Anti started, an unfamiliar hard set to her voice, “between Forgery and 2nd Street.”

“I—”

“Let me finish.” Anti looked away, the morning light catching dust in the space between her and the TV. She took a breath. “It was Arthur, wasn’t it?”

“It was—it was about his little brother again—”

“I figured as much. But…”

“But?”

Anti ducked her head. “I’ve seen some shit, Vin. He kicked you. I found you in a puddle of blood and dirt. He _hurt_ you.”

“It wasn’t that—” Marvin stopped, quailing under Anti’s quick glare. “It didn’t start that way.”

“How did it start?”

“He asked me to meet him, and I—”

“Wait.” Anti held up a finger, her eyes narrowing. “A guy you’ve met _once_ , who has a revenge complex against you, who’s _already_ proven himself capable of attempted murder, asked you to meet him.”

Marvin nodded, blushing faintly.

“And you said _yes?_ ”

“He said he just wanted to talk about it.” Marvin ran her fingers over her mask, feeling the singed and stained corners. Bloodstains, her own; mud, ash: the remnants of a fight. “And we did.”

Anti shook her head, fighting to keep her scowl in place. “And?”

“And it was late, and he said he’d walk me home.”

“God, Vin, anyone would have seen that coming.”

“I see the best in people.” Marvin glanced up, eyes flashing behind her mask. “Everyone can be nice, and I think a lot of people forget that.”

“In this town?” Anti snapped. “You can’t afford to.” The two of them stared at each other for a moment, hackles raised.

Marvin looked away first. “I know,” she muttered. “I know.”

“How long—”

“I don’t know. A day, two days.”

“ _Marvin_ —”

“He came back and told me no one looked for me,” Marvin whispered, looking down at her hands. “No one missed me.”

Anti paused, thinking. “Well,” she scoffed, after a moment, “that’s not true.”

“Is it?”

“Vin—”

“Is it?” Marvin clenched her hands, barely feeling them. She could barely feel anything, anymore. “I don’t have anyone to call, Anti. I don’t have anywhere to go.”

“You’re an idiot,” Anti said, flatly. “You have friends.”

“Not anymore.”

“What am I, then?”

Marvin’s head snapped up, and she started at Anti through her tears. “What?”

“Vin.” Anti shifted forward, uncharacteristically gentle. “I literally picked your sorry ass out of the mud, carried you all the way to my place, and fed you my pizza rolls. I think we might be friends.”

“Oh.” Marvin blushed under her mask. “I—I meant—”

“I know what you meant.” Anti ran a hand through her hair, sweeping her bangs back.

Marvin didn’t respond, gathering herself closer.

Anti looked over at Marvin, stained clothes, tired eyes. Somewhere, her phone beeped.

“How’d you find me?”

“You’re not hard to find.” Anti’s eyes were back on the TV, looking without seeing.

“Why?”

“Why’d I find you?”

“Yeah.” Marvin fidgeted with the hem of the blanket in her lap. In one breath, she muttered: “I have—I have _magic_ , and I’m _dangerous_ , and you don’t even _know_ me—”

“The same reason you found your way between me and a creepy barista.” Anti flicked her phone open, pretending she wasn’t holding her breath. “I have a knife, and you have—whatever you have. It doesn’t mean we like to use it.”

“Oh.” Marvin was quiet again.

“Looked like you needed a little help,” Anti teased.

“I don’t _need_ help,” Marvin mocked, and Anti looked over. “I’m _Anti_ , and I’m big and tough, but no one knows I’m a big ol’ softie that helps strangers.”

Anti threw a pillow, and Marvin, giggling, tossed it back. It was nice, if she was honest, to sit here and talk. Even if her mask smelled like rust, and her ribs still ached, and she wasn’t sure where she was going next.

* * *

 

The illusion broke as Anti rose, stuffing her phone in her pocket. “I should get to work.”

“Oh.” Marvin scrambled up, taking the blanket with her. “Do you want me to—I mean—”

“You don’t have anywhere to go.”

Marvin shifted, winding her hair around her fingers. “I don’t.”

“Then stay.” Anti fished around in her pocket until she found her keys, and unhooked one from the rest. “Here.”

Marvin stilled, blanket dropping. “You’re letting me stay?”

“I’m not going to kick you out if you’re not going to be safe out there.”

Marvin turned the key over in her hand, small and silver. “Anti—”

“Wha— _oof_.”

Marvin flung her arms around Anti, starting to cry all over again. “Thank you, thank you.”

“Shut—shut it.” Anti stepped back after a moment, faintly pink, and Marvin jumped.

“Sorry, I’m just—Thank you, Anti. It means the world, and I’ll be out of your hair—”

“Listen,” Anti muttered, rubbing the back of her neck, “you can stay until you can walk down the street without being murdered. I’m not—I’m not a protector.”

“A place to sleep is more than I can ask for,” Marvin said, eyes shining. “A home, a friend—It’s all I could ever dream of, if even for a little bit.”

Anti pushed her, gentle, and Marvin sat back down. “Dork.”

“Yeah.” Marvin looked down at the key again, then back up at Anti as she stepped towards the door. “Anti?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m not great at this whole not-being-murdered thing.”

“So I’ve noticed.” Anti started to lace up her shoes, still listening. “What about it?”

“Can you show me how to be good at it?” Marvin shrunk into herself, berating. Anti was busy, and she, Marvin, was intruding enough, she’d never be strong, she _would never be strong—_

“I can teach you a bit,” Anti said, leaning against the wall. “But fighting isn’t about how good or strong you are.”

“I don’t want to be scared anymore.”

“Fighting is about using what you have.” Anti raised an eyebrow, flicking over Marvin, from mask to scarred hands to singed hair. “ _All_ of what you have. “

“Teach me what you can.” Marvin folded her hands again, over and over each other. Anti was barely a friend, but here she was, with a key to Anti’s house. Here she was, asking Anti to teach her.

“When I get back,” Anti grudged, pulling her spare key off the wall, putting it with the rest of her keys. “We’ll see.”

“Thanks.” Marvin’s voice was smaller than she’d have liked, but as Anti left, Marvin couldn’t help but feel lighter. Like clear air in her lungs, like sunlight on scarred skin; for the first time in a long time, like she was at the beginning of something.


	7. Your Thing

“What’cha making?”

“AH!” Marvin fumbled with the bowl in her hands, and Anti caught it. “Anti, I didn’t expect—”

“Is this… pancake batter?” Anti stuck her finger in the bowl, licking batter off of it. “Where did you find the ingredients for this? Vin, it’s dinnertime, what are you—”

Marvin took the bowl back, handing Anti a spoon to lick instead. “I told you, I make a mean pancake.”

“Uh-huh. And why are you up? You should be resting.”

“I’m fine. Promise.” Marvin smiled, stirring the batter again. Her hair was tied back, for once, a few loose strands framing her face. “I just like to cook.”

“Unbelievable,” Anti muttered, sticking her finger in the bowl again, even as Marvin swatted her hand away. “Well, do you still want me to teach you… stuff?”

Marvin set the bowl down, her smile giving way to barely restrained nerves. “Now?”

“When?”

“I mean, you’re right.” Marvin set the bowl in the near-barren fridge, clearing the counter. “Now or never, right?”

“Right.” Anti waited until Marvin turned to face her, pushing her mask up on her nose. “Let’s go sit, okay?”

“Sit?” Marvin followed Anti into the living room again, and they lowered themselves onto opposite ends of the couch.

“Here.” Anti handed over her knife, handle-first.

Marvin took it, hesitating, fingers gentle on the hilt. “Your knife?”

“It’s my thing.” Anti pulled a second knife from nowhere, flipping it between her fingers.

“Your ‘thing?’” Marvin watched the blade flash, looking from it to the one cradled in her hand. They were so different; not the knives, but the hands holding them.

“Everyone has a thing, whether or not they know it. This is mine.” Anti’s hands stilled, and she brought her knife to eye level. There was something harder in her face, a memory long since lost.

“Okay,” Marvin said, dropping her gaze. “What’s my thing? Do I choose it?”

“Not always.” A bite of resentment, and Marvin looked up. Anti scowled at the point of her knife before tucking it away. “But isn’t it kind of _obvious_ what your thing is, Vin?”

“No,” Marvin snapped, eyes narrowing, “it’s not.”

Anti hesitated. She wasn’t the most delicate of people, and Marvin knew it. “I—”

“No, go ahead, Anti.” Marvin crossed her arms. “Say it.”

“Your—” Anti took a breath, “—your magic.”

Marvin shook her head. “I won’t use it to hurt people.”

“Even if they’re going to hurt you?” Anti’s eyes flashed. “If they’re going to kill you?”

“I—”

“I didn’t choose this, Vin.” Anti sat back, no longer looking at her. “Sometimes your thing doesn’t give you a choice.”

Marvin bit her lip, setting the knife down on the couch. She turned her hands over, and over, and over again, thinking. Anti watched, silent. Marvin’s hands were covered in discolored burns, like a map, winding up her arms.

“I have a choice,” Marvin muttered, looking up. “And I don’t want it to be this.”

“If you’re sure—”

“I’m sure.”

Anti sighed, picking up the knife Marvin had put down. “You’re too nice, Vin. It’ll kill you.”

“That’s my thing, then.” Marvin set her jaw, holding out her hand for the knife. “I’m too nice.”

“But?” Anti watched Marvin’s fingers close over the knife, sensing her hesitation.

Marvin closed her eyes for a moment, silent. “But I’m not _weak_.”

Anti nodded, satisfied. “That’s what I want to hear.”

Marvin looked at her, confused, and Anti laughed a little. “Tomorrow.”

“You’ll teach me?”

“What I can.”

“Thank you.” Marvin tightened her hand around the knife before making to give it back. “Here. It’s yours, after all.”

Anti shook her head. “I have extra. You need one, anyway.”

Marvin grinned, flicking it back and forth. “Thank you.”

Anti shook her head, a knot starting to form in the pit of her stomach. “Now, where are those pancakes?”

* * *

“Good, okay, now block.”

Marvin ducked her head as Anti swung, slow, at her.

“You have to hold your hand a little higher, okay?”

“Got it,” Marvin huffed. She dropped to the ground, out of breath. “This is fun.”

“Fun?” Anti rolled her eyes, sitting across from her, picking at the grass growing though the concrete. “I don’t think that’s the right word for this.”

Marvin was silent, looking around. They were behind the apartment, in the abandoned parking lot, and Anti was teaching her to spar The sun was setting already, long shadows on the cracked pavement. “I got this.”

“Let’s rest, anyway.” Anti eyed Marvin, tying her sweaty hair behind her. “It’s only been a week, and your chest isn’t healed up yet—”

“It’s now or never, right?” Marvin scrambled to her feet again, on her toes. “C’mon, Anti, what are you, tired?”

Anti laughed, getting to her feet. “Never.”

They sparred again, and again, and Marvin got a little better each time.

“One more, wait,” Marvin said, pausing. “Before we go.”

“Vin, it’s too dark, especially with your mask on—”

“I’ll take it off.”

“You—” Anti stopped, watching the streetlamps flicker on. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Spar with me, one more time, Anti.” Marvin glared at Anti, her hands already working at the straps of her mask. “Please.”

Anti sighed, looking away, and nodded.

Marvin dropped her mask to the ground, and Anti stopped herself from staring.

“All out?”

“All out.” Marvin smiled, wiping sweat off her face. “First to five?”

Anti nodded, bringing her fists up in front of her.

At once, they started to circle each other. It was practiced, easy, even in the dark, on the uneven asphalt. They’d been sparring all day, every day, for a full week. Anti held back, and Marvin got stronger, faster. It wasn’t her Thing, but it was coming easily to her nonetheless.

Anti sprang forward first, and Marvin sidestepped. Anti backed up, Marvin swung, tapping Anti’s chest, then side.

“Two hits.”

“Is that all you’ve got?” Anti grinned, her eyes lighting up. As much as she hated fighting, hated the memories and the blood it carried, this was fun. “Come get me!”

Marvin waited, concentration written across her face. Anti looked down, more at her moving feet than her face, without its mask for the first time since—

“Ha!” Marvin jabbed Anti in the shoulder, then hurried back again. “Three!”

“Hey!” Anti turned, snapping herself out of her thoughts. “I’ll get you for that.”

“It’s three to nothing,” Marvin laughed, but Anti looked her over, seeing the tension in her shoulders. She wanted to win.

Well, she would have to earn it.

Anti started to circle in the other direction, slower. The light slid across Marvin’s face, orange streetlamps casting deep blue shadows. Anti wouldn’t be distracted this time, no matter how much she wanted to look back.

She steamrolled forward, and Marvin reacted half a second too late. Anti landed one, two, three taps on Marvin before ducking out of the way.

“Tied.”

“Don’t go easy on me.” Marvin said, crouching. She was more graceful, like a cat on two feet. She smiled across at Anti, forgetting, for a moment, that they were head to head.

It didn’t hide the scarring that warped her face, raised burns that tugged her smile to one side.

Anti looked away.

Marvin jumped forward again, hoping to catch Anti off=guard, but Anti moved back with her. It was a dance, the two of them panting, eyes bright.

“Is that all you’ve got?”

“Make a move, then.”

Anti first, and she tapped Marvin’s side. Marvin stumbled back, her hand going up.

“Shit. Did I—”

“No.” Marvin pressed a hand against her ribs, then looked up. Her face was set, calculating. “I’m fine.”

Slightly hunched, she started to circle again.

Anti paused, worried. _Worried? Why was she worried? She shouldn’t even be out here this late—_

Marvin kicked, this time, pulling Anti’s legs out from under her. Anti landed in a patch of grass, on her rear, and Marvin tapped her on the shoulder.

“That’s five.”

“Damn.” Marvin took Anti’s outstretched hand, carefully pulling her to her feet. “That was good, Vin.”

“Thanks.” Marvin put a hand to her chest again, wincing. “I’m—I’m ready to go if you are.”

“Did I hurt you?”

“Just sore.”

Anti slung their bag (water, first aid, spare knife) over her shoulder, and the two of them started back for the apartment.

“I totally had you.”

“Did not.” Marvin ran her fingers through her hair, trying to untangle it. “I won fair and square.”

“Have it your way.” Anti looked at the ground, the twilight sky, anywhere but Marvin’s face.

“Something up?” Marvin paused as they got to the steps, a hand on Anti’s arm. “Are you… okay?”

“Yeah.” Anti looked at their shoes. “I didn’t think you’d take your—your thing—”

“Oh.” Marvin let her hand drop, following Anti’s gaze. Her mask was in her hand, she could put it back on, she should put it back on, _why wasn’t she putting it back on?_ “I can—I can put it back—”

“I—No.” Anti stuttered, looking up, looking Marvin full in the face. “You’re—I just wasn’t expecting—”

Marvin crossed her arms, mask dangling from one hand. “It’s okay,” she interrupted, soft. “It’s… it’s a lot.” She smiled again, and Anti watched the scars crinkle, pale skin that had never seen the light of day.

Slowly, Marvin put her mask back on.

“I’m sorry,” Anti mumbled, before she could stop herself.

Marvin reached for Anti’s arm again, linking them together. “It’s okay.”

They walked up the stairs, quiet, and into the apartment. 

* * *

 

Marvin settled herself on the couch, as she always did, and Anti started for her bedroom. Halfway there, she paused. “Vin?”

“Mm?” Marvin looked up from fluffing her pillow, about to turn in.

“Are you—are you sure you’re okay with all this?” Anti forced the question before she could stop herself.

Marvin frowned, rubbing at her mask. “What do you mean?”

“I mean—” Anti leaned against the wall, stalling, “—staying here, and cooking, and your mask, of all things—”

“Hey, hey.” Marvin crossed the room in two steps, and before she knew it, she’d taken Anti’s hands in her own. “Of course, why wouldn’t I be?”

“I—” Anti stopped, hating herself for hesitating. She was supposed to be strong. _She was supposed to be strong._ “I just want to make sure.”

“Anti.” Marvin waited until Anti looked up at her, almost flinching away. “I wouldn’t do any of this if—if I wasn’t okay with it. I’m more worried about you, I’m here in your house and—”

“Just—shut up,” Anti muttered. She leaned forward, and Marvin caught her, gently, in a hug. It was the feeling of finding something that neither of them knew they’d been missing.

“Trust me,” Marvin said, quiet, into the crook of Anti’s shoulder.

Anti relaxed, finally, her misgivings slipping away. Slowly, simply, she whispered, “Yes.”

* * *

Anti woke up to the smell of pancakes and the realization that something was horribly, horribly wrong.


	8. Us?

“Morning,” Anti muttered, dragging herself to the table.

“Morning,” Marvin said, sliding a plate over. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Mm.” Anti rubbed her neck, sore from sleeping without a pillow. “I’m fine, you?”

“I’m okay,” Marvin murmured. They sat in silence for a moment, and Marvin picked up her fork.

“Do you want to spar more today?” Anti picked at her food. “We could do cardio, if you don’t want to.”

“I—well,” Marvin paused. “I had a question, before we do anything.”

“Shoot.” Anti stood, pushing herself up, and the table scooted backwards. She got a glass of water, the clinking filling the stillness, and sat back down. She glanced at Marvin over the top of the glass, watching her fidget with her fork. “Everything okay in there?”

“Yeah, yeah, I just…” Marvin gathered her hair at the side of her neck, running her fingers through it. “I just hope that last night didn’t… scare you.”

Anti put her glass down with a surprised _clunk_. “Of course not,” she said, too quickly. “I’m—I’m glad you could trust me, Vin.”

“Anti, I—” Marvin sighed, not meeting Anti’s eyes. “I’m scary,” she muttered. “And it was a lot.”

“It’s all right.” Anti reached across the table, her hand over Marvin’s. “Really.”

“Do you…” Marvin took a deep breath, then looked up. Her eyes were red behind her mask, as if she’d been crying. “Anti, do you trust _me_?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Why _would_ you?” Marvin met Anti’s question with her own, too quickly. It was as if they were sparring, blade to blade, and now too close for comfort. “You don’t trust _anyone_. Why me?”

“I—” Anti hesitated, and breakfast was forgotten as their eyes met. Anti drew her hand back. “Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”

Marvin laughed, a little helpless, a little bitter. “You tell me.”

Anti leaned back, suspicious, her eyes narrowing. “Marvin—”

“Am I wrong?” Marvin was crying, eyes welling up behind her mask, and she ripped it off again. He shook her hair out of her face, red and blotchy with anger.

Anti looked away, squinting her eyes shut. She wasn’t used to dealing with this, and she’d certainly never had to care about someone like this before. The words spilled out before she could stop them. “No. Marvin, I don’t trust you. You don’t—you don’t use your magic, and no one knows what _really_ happened junior year, and I’m afraid.” Anti glanced back over, and Marvin was listening. She folded her arms. “I don’t trust _anyone_ ,” Anti muttered. “And I’m afraid you’ll be like all the others.

Marvin stood, shaking. “I—I’ve trusted you with _everything_ , Anti. You can tell me things, and I can—I _have_ given you all of this.” She looked down at herself, the air sucked from her lungs. “I trust you with everything, why can’t—what’s stopping you?”

Anti stood as well, hesitant. “Vin, I—It doesn’t work like that.” She squared her shoulders, tired, and shook her head. “It’s how I survive. You can—you can understand.”

“I can,” Marvin whispers, her shoulders going limp. “I just—I want to know you, Anti. I want this to last.”

“This?” Anti stops, her heart in her ears. Every fiber of her screams for a way out. “What is _this_?”

Marvin’s head snaps up. “This? Us?”

Anti tastes bile and copper in her mouth. “There isn’t—no. There isn’t an _us_ , Vin, I—”

“What do you—” Marvin’s voice hitched; and her eyes, so much wider and bluer without her mask obscuring them, started to water. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t—” Anti stopped herself, looking away. Her heart was pounding in her ears, hard. “This isn’t—this isn’t _permanent_.”

“We’re a team, aren’t—aren’t we?” Marvin hesitated. “You’re teaching me to fight, and—and—”

“I don’t _need_ anyone,” Anti snapped, before she could stop herself.

Marvin froze, the words hitting her one at a time. Her eyes widened, a tear slipping down her cheek, over her scars, down her chin. Anti’s eyes followed it, the realization of what she’d said catching up with her.

“I didn’t mean—”

“I know,” Marvin whispered, the fight gone out of her. “You don’t need me.”

“I—” Anti stopped. It was true, and she could say nothing. Marvin wasn’t a partner, barely a friend. Anti didn’t _need_ her.

“I’ll—Anti, if you want me to go—” Marvin froze, her lips pressed together. “I’ll go. Is that… what you want?”

 _Stay._ Anti gapes, searching for words, but something darker, deeper, holds her back. Anti is too used to listening to it, the cold, hard voice that’s kept her alive all this time. _You don’t need her. She makes you weaker._ In the end, she says nothing.

Marvin nodded, as if she was coming to the realization, one wave at a time. She picked up her mask. “I’m… I’m going to go.”

Anti couldn’t bring herself to reach out and stop her.

Marvin turned on her heel, the remnants of their breakfast forgotten. She stopped at the door, and there was the clatter of Anti’s knife on the hardwood floor, and the door slammed—and Marvin was gone.

* * *

Anti shoved two knives into her pocket: the one Marvin left, and a spare. She pulled on a jacket, a hood to hide her face, and she didn’t think about it.

She couldn’t think about it.

Anti kicked her motorcycle to life, not even bothering with her helmet. Who cared, after all, if she gets hurt? She certainly didn’t. Not tonight. She headed for the middle of town, for the place where the highways intersected, where the overpass rang loudly enough overhead that it drowned out her thoughts.

She parked and left the motorcycle in an alley. Whether or not she came back to it depended on how badly this night went, and Anti was too far beyond caring. She put one foot in front of the other, steamrolling forward, and she didn’t look back.

Anti swore that she wasn’t looking for Marvin. That, however, didn’t stop her from spotting Marvin huddled under the overpass, her knees pulled up to her chest. Anti took one look at her—hair lank around her shoulders, eyes hollow from crying—and turned away. She wasn’t here for Marvin.

She was here for a distraction. For literally anything, anything else.

Anti stuffed her hands in her pockets, shuffling around the highway. Cars whistled past, headlights flashing at her, too close to the road. Anti didn’t care, even as a car clipped just past her arm. She had to walk. She had to fight. This was no time to think.

Anti heard murmured voices, saw the burly outlines of people looking for trouble. That was fine—so was she. Anti smiled to herself, wide, drawing a knife. Marvin’s, and warm in her hand. She walked forward on her toes.

At any other point in time, Anti wouldn’t have picked this fight. She seized up the group she was about to attack with nothing more than a knife: there were more of them, stronger, bigger than she was. She ran through the possibilities. She’d lose, she’d get hurt, she’d get worse than hurt.

Anti didn’t care. If anything, she wanted to lose.

Anti lunged, and as she did, she surrendered herself to the sounds of the overpass.


End file.
